I recently bought my wife a cute little blouse from Arden B. that I thought would be perfect for Mother's Day.

She tried it on and I thought she looked like a little hottie and I told her so. My daughter nearly coughed up a fur ball and said "Dad, that's disgusting, keep those thoughts to yourself."

"What's the problem?" I asked.

"Hello, that's Mom. People your age shouldn't use words like hottie. It's eww!"

"I can say anything I want. Besides, I am cool," I protested.

"You are so NOT cool," she countered.

Seemingly overnight, my daughter has become the gatekeeper for cool — and cool I am not. Nor can I ever be.

I am past my prime. The little agist believes I have too many inches around the waist, too much snow on the mountain and not nearly enough street cred. I am old skool.

I suppose she believes she is protecting me, saving me from myself, so to speak, but it is also a bit self-serving. Ultimately, she is making sure that I don't embarrass her. To these ends, she has offered to educate me in cool and what is within (and beyond) my reach. Here is what I have learned thus far:

I am not allowed to use any modern slang. I can't use words like mad (to the extreme, i.e., "he got mad skills") or tricked out (heavily accessorized) or even sick (very cool).

Just as important, it is best I not use old phrases from my generation like "to the max," (to the extreme), bogart (to hog or take something that is not yours), and split (to leave or depart).

I am also not allowed to do anything remotely associated with youth or the youth movement. Despite the fact that I spent my formative years riding skateboards and racing BMX bikes, these activities are off limits. Apparently, I have no skillz.

Clothing is also a Hot Topic (which doubles as a goth store that I am banned from visiting). Evidently, I am too old to be fly (to dress in hip fashion). I am allowed to peruse Sears, Macy's, and Gap, but I can't even go near Metropark or Lucky Brand Jeans.

Way too fly for me.

Then there is my relationship with my wife. I cannot under any circumstance show any PDA (public displays of affection). We can't kiss, hug or otherwise make contact. Actually, we can hold hands, but that is it.

PDA is reserved for the young and is never acceptable for the "young at heart."

Speaking of affection, I must also choose my words wisely. I can tell my wife she looks beautiful, but I can't say she is smokin', a hottie, or babelicious.

Now truth be told, I can hang with the idea that I am past my prime. I don't need to throw down to protect my cred and claim some respect. I can even stow my aluminum "Banzai" skateboard, and shop at Sears, but sooner or later my daughter is going to learn that there is nothing cooler than parents who still dig each other after 20 years of marriage.

Now all I have to do is find my wife a cute black skirt to go with her blouse and we'll be all good for Mother's Day. If I am lucky, I may even embarrass my daughter in the process.

Michael C. DeMattos is a member of the faculty at the University of Hawai'i's school of social work. Born and raised on the Wai'anae Coast, he now lives in Kane'ohe with his wife, daughter, two dogs, two mice and 1,000 worms.